Being so bold and quaintly told
a thousand lines to be writ where given
They said in the end maybe it will be sold
so to this task I was whole heartedly driven
My pen I did scribble away until callus did show
and my eyes became all a quiver
Hair covering my eyes did grow
and my body did all a shiver
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Month after month, year after year
scribbling away like psychotic clown
Some kind of story did appear
so I took it to the man down town
Who wrapped it in brown paper with string
It simply bowled me over the moon
So I went home and started to sing
The story that had taken so long
had aged me all but thirty year
And now became my favourite song
that I sing whilst having a bath without fear.
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As I lay long in my wooden coffin
and a blessing was given alike to my story written
Keeps a wide smile to this rested boffin
Who from brown paper wrapping will never again be smitten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem